Moment
by AuralayKristine
Summary: In a rare moment of quiet, Nick reflects on Ellis. Warning: Character Death


It's easy to forget sometimes--hell, it's easy to miss it altogether--but Ellis is actually quite beautiful. Nick doesn't consider himself particularly sloppy or sentimental, but it's true, when he takes a moment to actually look.

Rarely do they have such moments, and usually when they do, his thoughts are devoted to more pressing concerns, like where they're going to hole up for the night, or what they'll do when their ammo runs out.

But right now, none of that seems to matter. Nothing is more pressing than mapping Ellis' features, taking in every detail and storing it carefully. The notion that he'd ever worried about anything else makes him want to laugh, and to cry, because he wasted so much time. He could have had so much more, if he hadn't. Because now time is short, and perhaps it is that knowledge that makes his cataloging of details so urgent.

The cap is a good place to start. He likes that cap. Ellis would look strange without it, like a part of him was missing or something. Of course, his hair is nice, too; sort of messy-curly, always a little wild from spending so much time under the cap. But that's okay, because the cap is sweet, in a strange way.

He's got a nice face, too. Nick wishes he'd gotten to see it minus its injuries--the cut across his nose, the bruised eye socket, the scrapes and smudges of dirt and grease. But maybe that's part of the appeal. Ellis was a mechanic, Before; he might have looked just as naked without the dirt and grime as he would have without his cap.

He's got nice eyes, Nick decides. Vivid blue, which suites him, because he's their young, innocent boy, and his eyes should reflect that. They sparkle, too; with amusement, with worry. They're so expressive, and for a guy used to dealing with poker faces, it's refreshing to see someone who wears his heart so openly in his eyes.

His nose is long and straight, wide at the nostrils; his lips--damn, his lips. Full and pouty and Nick would give anything to press his own to them right now, to ask for and take what might have been his if he hadn't hesitated. He'd thought it wasn't the time. But how could it not have been? They were flirting with death every second of every day, and that wasn't the time to mess around. That was the time to take what was offered and hold it as close as you could, because it could be snatched away any second.

There's a cleft in Ellis' chin that Nick wonders how he missed before. It's obvious, now, and he's pretty sure his thumb would fit into it perfectly. It would be ideal for guiding that chin up, so those eyes could meet his from under the brim of that cap, before those lips parted and Nick could plunder their sweet secrets with his tongue.

Ah, Ellis' tongue. Always moving, always chattering away about this or that. Nick listens to the stories, not because he finds them interesting, but because Ellis gets so animated when he speaks. He really is like a kid in that respect, so eager to please, to get them laughing. He'd thought it a nuisance at first, but he knows now he's come to cherish the sound more than just about any other. Ellis' voice, with its thick, unapologetic accent; Ellis' laugh. Ellis' words of encouragement, of support.

_"That's what friends are for, right?"_

Ellis' smile.

Nick knows he'll never see it again, and somehow, that loss seems the most tragic of any he's ever faced in his life. He knows--or he suspects, anyway, with good cause--that Ellis smiled a lot, Before. There are crinkles around his eyes, and when he does smile it's so easy, so natural, that Nick knows it's an expression that was always quite at home on his face. Ellis should never have had to stop smiling.

But he has. That gorgeous mouth is twisted down now, contorted into a terrible expression of sorrow that Nick loathes more than he's loathed any zombie. Ellis' nostrils are flared, and there is moisture gathering beneath them as his nose begins to run. Nick knows this is because of the tears that are spilling from his beautiful eyes, pushing each other over the edge of his lashes to cut a path through the grime on his face. Even the cap is gone, lost somewhere in the fray, and Ellis' curls are matted and soaked with blood (not his, Nick fervently prays) and sweat.

He wants nothing more to reach up and fix things--smooth away the tears, ease the lips back into a smile, rub away the furrow between his brows and place the cap back on his head--but he can't. His arms are heavy at his sides, leaden, and he knows with a startling calm that they'll never move again. That'd be okay, except he knows, somehow, that there's a correlation between that fact and the expression on Ellis' face. But his brain is working through molasses and the connection eludes him.

Ellis' lips are working now, moving, and he strains to hear that voice, because it's so important—_so_ important--that he doesn't miss anything Ellis says. But the words aren't getting through. He knows Ellis is talking to him, and he's close enough that Nick should be able to hear him, no problem. But he can't. His ears are ringing--there'd been an explosion, hadn't there?--and the entire world around him is muffled.

But he feels it, when Ellis' hands reach down to cradle his face. He feels it, as Ellis leans forward and presses his brow to Nick's, his hands shaking badly. Is he hurt? Nick frowns at the possibility, wishing he could check him over. But he can't.

The cough catches him by surprise, his body convulsing a little with the force of it, and when Ellis pulls away, there's new blood on his face. Nick fears for a moment it's Ellis' blood, but when Ellis reaches out and touches trembling fingertips to Nick's face, they come back red, and he understands. The blood is his.

And then it makes sense again. The fog in his brain is lifting a little, and things are falling into place with distressing clarity. He is dying.

He is dying, and Ellis is here, holding him. He is dying and Ellis is crying for him, grieving for him. Ellis' lips, still moving, are forming words he can almost hear, now: _"No, no, please, Nick, no, please don't, please don't go, please hold on, Nick, please..."_

He understands now. And somehow, he summons the strength to do what he's wanted to do for so long. He lifts a leaden arm, hand reaching up to cradle Ellis' face. His fingers slide down sweat-and-grime slick skin until his thumb can slip into the cleft at his chin (a perfect fit, he notes). And Ellis is responsive, so responsive, when Nick pulls him down and meshes their lips in a kiss that speaks of beginnings and endings at the same time. It is a kiss that tastes of blood and salt, the mingling of his death and Ellis' grief, and for a brief moment, they are one and the same.

He summons the energy to speak. He wants to say so much--all the words ever spoken in any romance novel, or maybe none of them because they were always too sappy anyway. But they got the point across, and he'd use them if he could.

Instead, only one word falls from his lips, broken and cracked and bleeding.

_"Ellis." _

Maybe it's not much. But it's enough. A terrible, beautiful smile passes briefly over Ellis' face, bringing momentary respite from the sorrow. And in that moment, Nick knows he has found his salvation.

His own name forms on Ellis' lips, as the young man lifts his own hands to cradle Nick's, as gently as he would a baby bird. Nick thinks it an apt comparison; he feels every bit as fragile, like the next breath could carry him away.

_I love you,_ he wants to say. But his mouth won't work, and his voice has spoken its last. He can only hope Ellis sees it in his eyes.

He must. Because the smile is back, trembling and heartbroken but sure, and Ellis presses a long, slow kiss to the back of Nick's hand, holding his eyes as he does. "I love you," he whispers, and Nick's heart is soaring. He lets his soul absorb the sight of the young man, giving himself one last broken moment with the future he'd never gotten to have. Whatever might come next, he knows this moment has been what his life has been building up to, and he will not waste it.

He knows when this moment is gone, he will be, too. But for this moment, fleeting as it might be, Nick is truly happy.

Maybe that's worth what it took to get him here.

* * *


End file.
